Melting Winter
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: "Just try and get a little more rest... I don't think you're well yet." And neither does he. -Post Winter Solider, eventual BuckyxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Melting Winter**

_ x_

_Chapter 1_

_ x_

He came back into the conscious world at a slow, blurry pace. His body, what was left of it, ached. And his mind, it was a scrambled mess.

Memories from every assassination, every order he'd been given, and then the experiments. They'd all been slowly piled on top of each other until they'd come crashing down, a face with blue eyes and a few words '_end of the line_', keep echoing, refusing to leave him be.

And then, there's the odd memories from before; the ones that he'd been told to ignore for so long, to force out of his head. Or they'd be forced out for him.

But there isn't anyone there to force them out now. And he's not sure if he wants to.

He's tired of fighting against it all, of forgetting again and again.

And the doubt is creeping in now, slowly but surely, it's there. Nestled in the back of his mind. This wasn't what he signed up for. He signed up to defend freedom. Not to take it.

But it's so hard to keep that thought at the front of his mind, to forget he was told to kill off that Captain. The Captain from his memories.

He'd pulled him out of the water, but anything more than that, it hurt too much to even think about.

There's a cool cloth on his forehead now, a small hand brushing the sweaty bangs of his hair back from his face. And he knows he should be cataloguing where he is, finding out the exits and taking down the one who holds him here, but his body doesn't want to respond.

He's tired, it's illness, he realizes, half asleep as he is.

There's a soft voice, promising him he'll feel better when he wakes up.

So he goes back to sleep and ignores it all.

.

His mouth feels like sand-paper when he wakes up, tongue dry and rough against the sharp strength of his teeth. His mind feels fuzzy from a lack of water, he hadn't drunk enough the previous night, that much was obvious. Dehydration.

He's not with Pierce anymore, and it's not a room he's ever seen before.

He's sprawled hazardously across a bed and the arm's on the fritz because it doesn't respond to his thoughts like it should, instead jerking once and then falling still.

It's the first time he's ever woken up without it working right, normally he'd have been put back together by now.

But then again, normally his brain's been ruined by now too. It's also the first time he's woke up with his thoughts a mess instead of an empty head.

Slowly, he sits up, ignoring the pull that comes with having a currently useless mechanical arm. His right is working fine and that's all that matters for now. He needs to figure out the situation, needs to see if the person that'd whispered in his ear previously was a threat or not.

His eyes scan the room, taking in the decorations that seem so very foreign to him, useless trinkets that have no space in his life. Or rather, they didn't before.

Slowly, he reaches out and takes one up in his arm, looking down at the small plush bear that stares back up at him with big, bright eyes.

"I'm sorry about the arm."

He throws the bear at the source as hard as he can, already reaching for a knife that isn't there whilst twisting his body so the useless mechanical arm can act like a shield for his ribs should bullets be shot.

Instead, there's just a silence as his eyes meet the figure of a woman's, leaning against the door with a carefully placed mask across her face. She looks wary, somewhat concerned too.

Cautiously, he lets himself sit back down on the bed, watching the woman's every movement as she hesitantly heads over. In one hand she has the projectile -the bear- that he'd launched at her, and in the other is a glass of water.

Instead of just handing it over though, she takes a small sip first, making a big show of swallowing, to let him know it's not poison in any way. His eyes are already flashing over the bookcases, recognising the topics of engineering and mechanics, and the Stark Industries ID tag that rests upon the bedside table is a dead-give away as to what her job could entail. He'd always been kept up to date on the weapons front, that was one of the things he wasn't allowed to forget.

"I'm trying to work out how to fix it, but I didn't want to play around with that thing until you woke up," she finally murmurs, holding out the drink for him to take in his own time.

Slowly, he does, accepting the glass and being exceedingly careful not to shatter it.

"My Land-lord and I found you outside and brought you up here... My name's Alice Jackson."

He just looks up and nods, because he doesn't know his name. Regardless of what the man he maybe knew calls him.

The newly introduced Alice carefully takes the empty glass back off him, frowning a little when he offers up no name of his own.

"Just try and get a little more rest... I don't think you're well yet."

And neither does he.

* * *

**So, guess what film I went to see today?  
I couldn't help it, I mean, Bucky. Sweet, sweet Bucky. What did you were do to deserve such a fate?**

**Tsume  
xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Melting Winter**

_ x_

_Chapter 2_

_ x_

When he wakes the second time, it's to the scent of soup. It's reminds him of home, but no memories come with it. Just a scent that brings a tiny bit of comfort and familiarity, an echoing longing to what he should have had before but wasn't there. Something had gone wrong with his life, as if the metal arm wasn't enough to prove that right now.

It moves, he notices, when he thinks of it. He can lift the metal up and down again, but anything more complicated that bending at the elbow doesn't work. It's a slow process of repairs because the girl doesn't know what she's doing, what she's playing around with. He's just thankful the uncomfortable tug at the skin on his shoulder is gone now.

The woman, Alice, is stood up to the kitchen stove when he emerges from what has to be her room. The couch is littered with three soft looking pillows and a blanket, and something in the back of his mind strikes him as wrong, that she shouldn't be sleeping there at all.

But he pushes it back, determined to focus on the mystery that was the Captain he might maybe know.

He instead begins to take in the girl with analytical eyes, committing everything to memory. And there's a lot of space up there for it to go into.

Her hair is long, the colour of honey and is pulled over one shoulder, exposing a kill shot to her neck that'd be so easy to take advantage of. Everything about her is delicate and soft, nothing that screams warrior or even threat. Her arms, while somewhat tanned, couldn't lift anything too heavy for too long, and the light dress she wears is not for fighting, the extra material would just get tangled up too quickly. She's nothing like the dangerous red-head he was ordered to kill. But the thought comes, why was he taking orders anyway? Why just him, didn't there used to be others? And they didn't do orders did they? They ran missions together.

He's gripping his head with the flesh hand as he drops onto the sofa, a grimace on his face and a resounding pain in the back of his skull.

By the time it goes away, a few minutes later when he just stops thinking for a bit, the woman is stood before him with one hand held out, the table set up behind her. She's still understandably cautious of him, and for a moment he wants to prove her right, to put her head through the wall and cover the room in her blood before leaving for the next mission.

But is that really his thoughts, or are the implanted in him?

So he holds off for now, instead taking her hand in his and inspecting it.

It's not as soft as he was expecting, instead callous with little sharp scars and burns running across the skin. He knows she works with machinery, but this proves she's been doing so for a while, half a decade at least looking at some of the scars. He's making her uncomfortable now, still holding her hand and comparing the small appendage to his own, running his thumb across the skin and trying to figure out why the blood isn't glistening between his fingers.

"I've got you a bowl of stew on the table, if you want it, that is." She tries to pull her hand from his, but he tightens his grip, watching as panic crosses her face for a second.

But he remembers something like this, he's held hands before, with more than one person. They were always smaller than his though, he remembers that, dainty light and feminine. He'd not been so cut off from society before. So how had he come to be so?

He stands up and makes his way to the table, careful not to drag the girl too much or slow her down. She's very uneased now, and appears exceedingly grateful when he does let go of her hand, allowing her to sit across the table from him.

The stew actually looks like something he'd want to eat, nothing like the carefully balanced meals he's been given before, to ensure maximum performance. He has no idea how to converse, and he knows not to speak of the targets he's taken out before, and the two he's failed to kill. It's all confidential.

But that can't stop him from asking about his contractor, not now, when he's not sure he even wants to go back.

"Head of World Security, Alexander Pierce." He waits for a reaction from the girl, who'd looked up so fast when he spoke up that some of the broth has splattered across her dress. She blinked, eyes still wide before they narrowed as she thought.

"You mean the guy that Captain America took out? The one that was linked with terrorists?"

So he was dead then.

That was all he needed to know, contractor dead meant that even if he wanted to go back he couldn't. The only question is, would the people he was ordered to kill still be after him?

His orders to kill them, he didn't need to listen to them anymore. He wasn't sure he would have done had the man still been alive anyway.

"Do you know your name?" Alice asks, tilting her head to a side with a slight frown, ignoring the drying broth on her dress. If it wasn't for the heat of the liquid, he was pretty sure she'd not have even noticed it.

He's hesitant to answer, somewhat understandable because he's only ever been addressed by solider, aside from that once '_Bucky?_'. And he doesn't feel comfortable with that, because that was his target and could be wrong, could have been trying to get under his skin.

"...No..." He finally replies and Alice looks surprised that he even bothered to answer.

"Oh. I've kinda been calling you Gadget in my head, you know, go go Inspector Gadget? Because of the mechanical arm... No?"

He's not quite sure how to respond to the girl, strange as she is. She's nothing like Pierce and his workers, or like any of his targets before. That's because on her own, she has no massive impact in the world, so she'd have been forever beneath his radar had she not found his passed out form.

But at the moment, she's making an impact on his life, even if it's only because she supplies a place to rest, with food and water and other facilities.

"So have you just lost your memories, or do you really not know your name?" She seems genuinely interested in his thoughts in a way that no one ever has before. But he can't answer that, because even he doesn't know.

So he just shakes his head, watching as Alice's face softens into something he doesn't recognise.

"Okay... Well I'm calling you Gadget until we figure out who you are. Now let me try fixing up that arm."

* * *

**Short chapters are short. **

**Tsume  
xxx**


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